Ten Years Later
by Fandom Scribe
Summary: Brief glimpse into the life of Holden Caulfield ten years after the end of the book. One-shot.


I leaned my forehead against the cold glass of the window as I watched the rain fall outside like angels dropping from above. Normally I would've considered it a depressing sight; the sky covered in a mantle of angry grey clouds, the street below deserted and the streetlights casting ghostly shadows across the damp brick walls. But if you want to know the truth right now it wasn't depressing at all. I mean, it _looked_ depressing, but it didn't make me feel that way. I don't know why. It just didn't. Maybe I just had more important things to concentrate on at the moment.

I tore my gaze from the window and let my eyes rest on Phoebe. She was still darting around the living room, carrying boxes and objects of all shapes and sizes and organizing them neatly in a way that only she understood. One moment she disappeared into her bedroom and the next she'd reappear with yet another package in her arms, full of God knew what childhood memories she was trying to preserve. I wondered why she even bothered to keep all that stuff- I'd certainly dumped all of my old things in the trash as soon as we'd decided we needed to sell the house. I mean, what did I want them for anyway? But old Phoebe insisted that there were certain things she could not bear to part with.

"Are you just going to stand there staring or are you actually going to help me with these?" she asked, nodding her head towards a pile of picture albums she was trying to put into order.

I sauntered over to her, bored out of my mind. I just wanted to get out of the goddammed house already. "What is it you need help with?" I asked.

"Oh I don't know." She swept her hand over the room in a dramatic gesture. "There are still plenty of things left to pack, I'm sure you could find _something_ to do."

I watched Phoebe as she resumed her task. She really had grown up to be a beautiful young lady. I was surprised she could keep the boys away from her long enough to come home and rearrange picture albums. The thing is she hadn't taken our father's death very well. Mother's had been worse of course, seeing as she'd only been fifteen back then and it was the first parent we lost- but father's death wasn't doing her much good either. I wished I knew how to cheer her up, how to turn that frown upside down and make her smile like only Phoebe knew how to.

In a sudden burst of inspiration I walked across the room and started digging into one of the boxes near the door.

"Holden, what on earth are you doing now?" she demanded.

I didn't answer; I just kept rummaging around the contents of the same box. I was sure I'd seen her put it in there. Finally my fingers found what I was looking for and with a great effort I carefully pulled out our old record player. At the bottom of the box lay a few old records, still intact after so many years. I grabbed one and placed it on the player.

Soft music poured out through the room. It was cheerful, not exactly fitting the mood, but I liked it anyway. I grinned like a madman and turned to face Phoebe. She was standing with her arms crossed over her chest, looking at me with an expression I couldn't quite read.

"Now's not the time," she said.

"Of course it is. It's always a good time for a dance." To prove my point I danced my way over to her and swept her in my arms, dragging her into the game. At first she refused to follow my lead, and that was the Phoebe I didn't like, the one that was sad over our father dying and had turned serious and reserved. But I kept swinging her around anyway, despite the sour look on her face and her lack of cooperation. And after a few minutes it was like she couldn't help herself. Shyly at first, and then gaining more confidence, she broke into a dance that sent her spiraling across the living room. Phoebe leaped over crates and dodged piles of books, laughing all the while. She was an excellent dancer, she really was. Never had I seen a better dancer than old Phoebe.

Her red hair - longer now than it had been when she was younger- twisted around her as her body moved to match the rhythm of the music. I danced with her, keeping her pace and still grinning like a madman. I couldn't remember the last time I'd danced with Phoebe like this. Months ago, years maybe. As a matter of fact I don't believe we'd danced together in ten years, if not more. Probably since before I'd gone off to California.

We only stopped after about five numbers. Exhausted, we collapsed back on the couch, but I couldn't stop laughing. I'd missed dancing with Phoebe. Most people are horrible dancers, you can't enjoy it the same. Horrible dancers step on your toes and move awkwardly and all. They're clumsy and trip and it just ruins the whole thing. Not Phoebe though. Boy could this girl dance.

She smiled at me and then stood up and continued packing, but humming this time. The smile didn't leave her face, and I was glad to see her happy again. I checked my watch. The time was eleven forty-three. D.B. should be arriving any minute now. I wasn't sure whether I actually wanted to see him or not. Last time I'd talked to him we hadn't been on the best of terms if you know what I mean. His plane should have already landed, and I was fairly sure he'd be on his way from the airport by now. He hadn't been able to make it to our father's funeral -he'd been held up with some project of his in Hollywood- but he'd insisted on coming to help us move out of the house.

"I'm going out," I announced.

Phoebe looked up, surprise in her eyes. "Going where? D.B. will be arriving soon, don't you want to see him?"

I waved my hand dismissively. "I'll be back. I guess I'll see him then."

She frowned, setting down the box she was holding. I could see the edges of photo frames sticking out from the top. "Holden," she said slowly, "where are you going?"

"Nowhere Phoebe," I replied, wishing she would trust me a little more. "For a walk, that's all."

I grabbed a coat and headed out, sticking my hands in my pockets to keep them warm since I'd already packed my goddammed gloves into one of the many boxes and I couldn't find them. I took the elevator down to the entrance and the stepped outside, the brisk wind cutting through my clothes and chilling me to the bone. Within minutes my cheeks had grown numb from the cold and I was soaked from the rain, my hair plastered to my forehead. I pulled the collar of my coat up in a futile attempt to bring some warmth back into my body and then walked down the street, no particular direction in mind.

I lit a cigarette and put it between my lips as I reached Broadway. It was Sunday, and families waited in line to buy tickets for various shows, umbrellas open above their heads so as to keep themselves dry. Like it always had, the sight depressed me. To think that these phonies were actually paying to sit in a theater for two hours and stare at some picture in which other phonies run around pretending to be oh so noble and brave. It made me want to throw up. No matter how many weeks they locked me up in rehabilitation clinics, phonies would always make me want to throw up.

I knew Phoebe liked going to the movies. She often did in fact, with her boyfriend Richard who she had met in college. I supposed he was a nice enough guy, and rather intelligent too. Not that I would have ever expected Phoebe to end up with someone whose wits didn't match her own, she was far too smart for that. D.B.'s wife on the other hand was a complete moron. You could just tell she was stupid, and no matter how hard I tried I hadn't been able to have a single intelligent conversation with the woman since the day I'd met her. Not a single one. Dumb as a doorbell she was. I often wondered what D.B. saw in her. I'd asked him as much once, but it had ended in a terrible fight and my question hadn't been answered. It didn't take a genius to figure out why.

I walked through the streets like a ghost, not talking to anybody, just lost in thought. And like a ghost I visited my old haunts, tracing the footsteps of my past without even realizing it. Before I knew it I was in the park, walking amongst the shelter of trees whose leaves rustled in the wind as if they were whispering a message that could not be heard by the human ear. The rain was still coming down in sheets, and there wasn't an inch on my body that wasn't soaked. I suddenly found myself wishing I had my old red hunting hat, but my mother had thrown it away after I'd gone to California to get treatment. The goddammed water got through my coat and into the collar of my shirt, running down my back and causing me to shiver. To be honest I really didn't care all that much. It felt somehow right. It's hard to explain, but I guess it was just appropriate that I feel so cold on the day we were finally selling the apartment in which we'd grown up. I'd moved out and into my own apartment six years ago, and I can't say I was ever too attached to the place, but it still felt like we were cutting the last tie that connected us to our parents.

I sat down on a bench in front of the pond. I didn't feel like doing much. I just felt like sitting there and watching the rain form ripples on the surface of the water, thousands of tiny rings growing and growing until they collided with each other and disappeared only to be replaced by more rings that wouldn't stop forming. I remembered another day like this one, years ago, when I'd sat on a bench to watch my sister go round and round in a carrousel. I hadn't minded the rain then because I'd been happy. I wasn't happy now, but I still didn't mind the rain. It was nice to feel it kiss my skin ever so slightly in its long journey to the ground.

The rain falling made me think of something else. Something I hadn't thought about in a long time; children falling. Children falling off the edge of a cliff because there was no one there to catch them. Falling down and down forever, not being able to reach the bottom. I had wanted to be the catcher in the rye, but instead I had become an editor working for the Times. Sometimes my job depressed me. I had to read through dozens of heartbreaking stories of people dying because of this or that, or articles about some moron who either screwed things up for everyone else or did something supposedly fantastic for the community but that really, was all about the money. Mostly they were politicians, but there were others too. My job was a stupid one indeed, but it was better than nothing so I put up with it.

A voice interrupted my thoughts. "Holden? Holden Caulfield?"

I looked up and my eyes fell on a young woman who must've been around my age. She was wearing a long black coat and a knit cap on top of her wavy brown hair. In her hand she clutched an umbrella and from her arm dangled a small purse. Her face seemed vaguely familiar, all big round eyes and a beautiful smile that only added to her good looks.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" I asked.

She remained standing where she was, barely six feet in front of me. "You're Holden, right?"

"Yes, that's my name."

Her eyes lit up, which surprised me. I didn't really think I'd had much luck with women in my twenty-six years of life, and I certainly hadn't made enough of an impact on any of them to make them look so happy to see me. "I'm Jane, Jane Gallagher that is. I don't know if you remember me but-"

"_Jane Gallagher?_" I asked incredulously. I hadn't heard from her in years.

"The one and only," she said, seemingly pleased that I remembered who she was. "Oh Holden you haven't changed at all! How are you after all this time? And why in the world are you sitting in the rain?"

For a second I was too startled to answer. But then I jumped to my feet and closed the distance between us in two long strides. "Why I'm- I'm just fine, thank you," I spluttered. "How are you?"

"Never better." She looked at me the way one might look at a puzzle on the New York Times; with curiosity but hesitance at the same time, like she'd like to try to know my secrets but was afraid the challenge would be too much for her. "We should get out of the rain. But we _must_ catch up, how does lunch sound?"

"I've heard worse ideas," I said with a grin as I took her arm and started leading her towards the park's gates. "I've been told there's a new coffee shop down by Seventh Avenue that has some board games you can borrow while you eat."

"Board games? What do you have in mind?"

"I was thinking checkers."

I sneaked a glance at Jane and saw a small smile playing on her lips. She remembered. I had been afraid she wouldn't, but she remembered.

And then just as we passed through the gates and out into the street beyond Jane's free hand slipped into mine. My heart sped up and I couldn't keep the goddammed grin out of my face. I must've looked like an idiot. Not that I cared. The rain kept falling all around us, but at the moment the only thought that came to my mind was that maybe this day wouldn't turn out to be as bad as I had expected, that maybe there was still something left to look forward to.

"Checkers," said Jane, "sounds like a wonderful idea."


End file.
